


heart swells

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, First Dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: (i am shouting out a litany, an echo calls back.)Morgan and Nah go out on a date.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aradian_nights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradian_nights/gifts).



heart swells 

* * *

for lovers who line the beach whom moon entertains   
theirs always waxing while our crescent wanes. 

.

.

.

(i do not believe i've ever felt more alone.)

* * *

 

It's difficult to explain why he unnerves her so much. The feeling, difficult to enunciate even, put into words. Maybe it's something in his gaze? She wants to say that's the case, ultimately, it all boils down to how he looks at her. Like a scientist with a magnifying glass, like a magician with a spell book. There's a plethora of similes she can use to draw comparisons between Morgan and her. It was in her nature to poke and prod, to examine and such, but what he did to her, it felt different. There was a sense of detachment, and before she would wave it off as irrelevant to their relationship. He was strange, and he was lovely, he would scale mountains if it made her happy. She was sure of it. The specificity of the memory perturbs her, but it’s better to always focus on the present, on the now, she can hear her mother chide her. A girl shouldn’t spend all her time alone in her head.

Morgan was enigmatic, a mystery. Maybe that's her second conclusion. He makes flowers bloom out of thin air, and she watches in awe and in a subtle horror that she can't quite mask. She thought she got better at feigning disinterest, but his sincerity cuts her. Roots split open out of his dark skin and in between the crevices of his fingertips. The plant grows and grows until it's a bouquet, filled with white roses and red zinnias. Blood drips to the floor, first slowly and then in rivulets and she wants to do something but he’s smiling like a fool.

"They're for you," he says brightly. Her ears go red, pointy tips flushed with embarrassment.

"Thank you. They're beautiful."

"Not as cute as the girl I like most!"

He laughs, pink settles on his cheeks and he scratches the back of his neck. She can’t help her gaze, it’s glued to the wound, gaping and open. Would that get infected? She wants to ask a thousand questions, but instead decides on a sigh. It's all very normal for a boy in love, desperate to impress. Nah's a little surly in comparison to most girls, she's sure of it, but Morgan doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he's fascinated by her, at least that's what he's said before, and sometimes she wonders if it's still the case and if so--in what context. She tucks a strand of auburn hair back, before settling on twisting one of her braids in between her fingers. Her nails are nice today. Manicured. Nice for dates. Not for watching one's maybe, maybe not boyfriend grow flowers from a gaping wound.

She takes the bouquet anyways. Morgan's hands are raw and red, and with a flick of his wrist, the skin starts to heal. His mother's magic, yes, she knows it well. She knows the stories, about a witch from the west. She has yet to meet her, but she’s an ever-present ghost, lingering in the kitchen late at night. Nah will steal a few more moments, but then she has to look at the ground and then at his cobalt hair, cowlicks all over the place. She wants to pat it down, but he won't let her. To mitigate the feeling, she smiles softly, and tries to think about anything else. Maybe how light seems to warp around him, how it makes him look like he always has a halo, he’s glowing. It’s weird. Maybe she should’ve worn her glasses, her father’s poor eyesight was a family curse. 

"Do you want to get something to eat? I mean," he starts off strong, and ends his thought by linking their arms together. Morgan leads them through the park, past the artificial lake with the duck families they used to feed in the summertime and into the city, past the gate. She should've worn more layers, the cardigan and dress were fine, but maybe a pair of tights would've done a better job protecting against the chill. Morgan notices when they get in line to cross the street. He pulls his hoodie over his head and dumps it unceremoniously over Nah's small frame. He's left with an oversized shirt from summer camp. It's comical, truly does he not own anything that fits? She laughs, almost snorts but she's careful to cover it behind her hand.

"Jeez, warn a girl next time. Aren't you cold?" she pushes her arms through the sleeves and drowns in his too big hoodie. It's already massive on him, a hand me down from his father, taken from his alma matter. She rolls them at the elbow and Morgan shrugs, shakes his head.

“Nah, not really. This is enough, don’t look at me like that.”

She wonders what sort of expression warranted his retort. She does pout a lot, especially when he was involved. He smiles, and takes her hand this time, twines their fingers together and presses forward. The city vibrates underneath their footfalls, it’s a crescendo that makes her ears ring and her skin crawl. She hates the sound of bustling crowds, too many people existing in one moment, phone calls and pedestrian screeching at vehicles. None of it is particularly enjoyable, so she tucks her head in and follows Morgan out. He weaves through the masses effortlessly, and with every step he takes, she has to take four. It’s not fair, when did he get bigger than her? Longer legs, longer strides. They used to be the last ones chosen for gym class. For different reasons, but nonetheless they ended up behind the bleachers, second year and fourth year, discussing the secrets of the universe.

“Are we almost there?”

“Yes! It’s actually just about here, it’s a small cafe—I know how much you like those, so, here we are!”

Morgan lets go of her hand to gesture at the small building. They were a little out of the way, there wasn’t that much traffic anymore, aside from the occasional office employee. Nah sizes the place up, she tries not to be too scrutinizing but, she wonders if the locale passed its last health department inspection.

The glossy blue "A" behind the window approves the business for customer use.

“Come on, come on!” Morgan opens the door for her and she steps in.

It’s a cozy place, sure. Small, there’s windows on two walls, the other two are covered with portraits and paintings. Local art. There’s a couple of booths, seats are vinyl and the table tops are some sort of thick plastic meant to resemble wood. Or maybe it was actual wood. It’s not of terrible importance. Lights hang down from the ceilings and there’s a bookshelf minding its own business near the cash register. Other patrons of the establishment are mingling amongst themselves, or on their way to get more coffee from the barista leaning over the countertop. She goes from forlorn expression to a cheerful, “let me get that for you~” with a sigh.

“Hi! Hi! Hello!”

The girl blinks, and then her grin goes absolutely wide, revealing a set of sharp teeth.

“Hello, Morgan! Welcome back. Your booth’s ready for ya.” She points to one of the corners and Morgan nods, but not before grabbing two cups of coffee and taking them with him. Nah nods at the barista hastily before moving towards the back. Morgan’s usual spot, according to the girl with the bad dye job, is next to the window. It would be nice when the sun was out, but with an overcast sky, it’s a little more dismal than other booths.

("Bad dye job? Nah, really?" She chastises herself while Morgan gets them menus.)

“I’ll just take some pancakes.” Nah doesn’t open the menu. She doesn’t want to think about the amount of sweets on there. Morgan taps his finger against his chin.

“Are you sure? I mean, there’s stuff like omelettes and junk, they’re really good.”

“Yes.”

“All right, all right~I’ll go put in our order.”

She picks at her nails and watches morgan bounce away. When did they even meet? Junior high? Maybe before that. They met at some party the adults threw, Lucina’s birthday or something. Nah already knew Gerome, who knew Severa, who definitely knew Lucina, who was cousins with Owain, who was best friends with Lucina’s younger and suddenly there brother. Morgan moved back from the east with his mother, apparently there was some issue in the family. Nah was twelve and Morgan was nine and he did magic tricks for his sister.

He was…happier, maybe? There was something sweeter about him in the past.

Kinder?

She jumps when Morgan comes back, he’s carrying several plates like a professional, including a stack of pancakes covered in powdered sugar and seasonal fruit and several kinds of syrups.

“Is that for me?” she squeaks, and Morgan laughs.

“Yes!”

“Morgan, you know I can’t have too much sugar!”

“Yeah, but,” he slides into the booth after organizing the remaining plates “Every once in a while wouldn’t hurt, right? Something sweet for a sweet person?”

Nah narrows her gaze, but cuts a piece of the meal turned dessert anyways. She lifts up the fork and Morgan tilts his head. He’s halfway through devouring a plate of steak and eggs.

“Open up.”

His eyes light up, and he does as instructed. She would’ve never thought about stupidly cute couple things, like feeding your significant other, as a staple of their relationship but it’s endearing how Morgan enthusiastically applauds her work. She didn’t even make the pancakes. After his show, she cuts another piece. There's whipped cream on it too, she's already making a mental count of milligrams and adjusting the rest of her meals for the day.

"Is it good?"

She's just put it to her lips.

"I haven't even had it yet. Jeez."

She takes a bite.

"Huh?"

It doesn't taste like anything. Cardboard would have more flavor. The whipped cream falls from her fork, and she feels some of it on her chin.

Morgan blinks.

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

"No..."

She doesn't like the way Morgan furrows his brow, or the way he chews on his lip. It's like he doesn't think she'll notice, but god she's been with him forever, forever and beyond, how can she not tell when he's lying--forever? No, that's wrong. They met in junior high, and this was their second, or third, or maybe seventh real date. He asked her out last week on the library steps, the sky was scarlet. Smog trails made messages for satellites, and Morgan was striking against a falling sun. He said, hey, let’s go out, one more time. Like there was some sort of time limit.

“Morgan?”

He makes a face she does not like in the slightest. Desperation, on her Morgan? That was preposterous. Nah leans over the table and tries to take his hands, but he does not let her. He’s running them through his hair and shaking them out, like that would make a difference in the situation. He laughs nervously, an ehehe, instead of something more fitting to him, like a guffaw. Something ugly that shook his core. The food was getting cold. Did everything taste so bland. Was he doing it to be nice? Nah narrows her gaze.

“Morgan. What’s wrong?”

“I should’ve known, you would’ve figured it out.”

He gets out of his seat, climbs out of the booth and starts to pace. The barista is no where to be found. The patrons from before are fuzzy around the edges, graying out. Disappearing. That’s bizarre, that’s unacceptable—it is impossible. Nah stands up and gets stuck in between the table. Once she’s out, she can’t find Morgan. She leaves her things, her purse and lipstick and phone, and runs after him. Where would he go, outside? Behind the counter, she doesn’t think about it, instead propels herself forward and flies over the counter, she lands with a flourish. Her braids are all messed up, and she’s still wearing this suffocating sweater, what was he talking about? Figure what out, god, Morgan, you absolute fool

The absolute worst.

She reaches the end of the building, surrounded by prep tables and refrigerators. The jacket’s on the floor now, she’s back to the basic sundress and stupid cardigan.

“Listen—“

She shrieks when Morgan grabs her from behind, one arm wrapped around her waist. His free hand finds her mouth, and he covers it. She stomps down on his toes and whirls on her heel, they’re face to face and her hands immediately go for his throat.

“What, what exactly warrants this behavior? Pray tell, Morgan.”

“Even your language, ah, gods. God.”

She squeezes. He gasps for air, and flails.

“What is going on.”

The dragon wakes up.

.

Overgrown. Yes, that would be the best way to describe it. The scene unfolds, a tragedy in three acts. The girl is covered in iridescent scales, neatly stacked upon each other. The wreckage starts from her toes, her legs, vines wrap around with a vengeance. Thorns from roses try to draw blood, but she is covered in a second skin. There is no use in harming her, when she is so intrinsically bound to the earth. Her hands are colored carmine and dressed with white flowers. The tree she rests upon, a fairy queen destined for the dirt, is old and marred by prayer and knives. The Mila Tree was dying, and a young heart desperate, absolutely desperate to save it, keeps it alive.

Morgan thought it was all so stupid. So, so stupid. His hands are raw and red, and his spellbooks litter the grassy hill. There’s nothing in this clearing, there’s only the stupid tree he hates so much, and the girl he would tear a goddess out of the sky for.

**Author's Note:**

> happy late birthday dani lmfaooooo


End file.
